


Friendship and Dungbombs Are Practically Synonyms, Anyway

by i_claudia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For anowlinsunshine's prompt: <i>could you write me some companion!Remus?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship and Dungbombs Are Practically Synonyms, Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/65643.html?thread=1635947#t1635947). (21 January 2011)

Remus knows each of the Marauders better than they’ll ever imagine, any of them; knows how they act and react, knows when to push them and when to just let them be, to quietly open his book and keep one eye on them while they work through whatever marvel or frustration they’ve been handed. He knows that Sirius is most dangerous when he goes silent, that quiet at lunch means explosions by dinner; that James is loudest when he’s flustered; that Peter gets a deep crease between his eyebrows just before he’s about to present some idea for the four of them to shape into a clever plan which might lead to them all being expelled.

“You have no spirit,” Sirius tells him whenever Remus expresses concern over that tiny detail. “Come on, Moony! For Gryffindor! For glory! For the Marauders living on in the memories of Hogwarts students forever!”

“You’ll live trapped as a statue here forever,” Remus mutters, but he helps them fine tune everything to minimize their chances of being caught.

“Genius,” James says sometimes. “You’re a damned genius, Moony!” Remus never says anything to that, just ducks his head and smiles.

It’s odd, feeling this included, feeling this essential, like the people around him would miss him if he was gone, if he ever left. He’s always known that his parents cared about him, of course, but it isn’t nearly the same. Remus has watched other people enjoy the intimacy of friendship for years, and this is the first time he’s ever felt like he’s on the inside of that. It’s trite, he knows, but these boys feel special, and if being with them means sneaking into the Slytherin dorms and flushing Dungbombs down all the toilets before Slughorn can catch them at it, Remus is going to be sneaking as best he can.

He’s nearly conquered the fear that they’ll leave, his Marauders—they know who he is now, what he is, and instead of turning they’ve only pulled him closer, forming ranks around him against the whispers of the world. They don’t care if he has bad days, if he snaps at them, if he refuses to help them with their History of Magic essays and leaves them to struggle through it on their own; they give him grief for it, punch him in the shoulder, and move on to the next thing. Sometimes he thinks they watch him as closely as he watches them, all of them keeping tabs on each other, looking out for their own. It makes him feel—he isn’t sure. Warm, in a way that goes deeper than he’s able to express. So he sits and watches Sirius on the days Regulus has been a particular bastard, lets Sirius work out his anger with a broom and a Bludger. He gives James and Peter advice because out of all of them, Remus is the only one with girls as friends, and if the rest of them don’t learn a little about common human decency not one of them will ever have an actual girlfriend, and he patches James up every time Lily Evans hexes him.

Today he’s sitting with Sirius up somewhere near the Astronomy Tower, crammed together on a wide window sill while they peer down at the Hufflepuffs building snowmen in one of the courtyards and alternate casting Warming Charms so they won’t freeze to death. Sirius had been musing on the James’ mad map idea, and now they’re just sitting, legs tangled comfortably, until Sirius says, suddenly,

“You’re sort of a best friend, Moony.”

Remus blinks. “What?”

Sirius is thinking aloud; he’s frowning, won’t quite meet Remus’ eye while he works out whatever is in his head. “I mean, Prongs is my brother, yeah? My _real_ brother, not that excuse for a snake who lives with my parents. And Wormtail’s a good mate. But you’re sort of... you’re different, you know? You’re what I think a best friend might be.” He thinks about it a little more. “Yeah,” he decides. “I think you’re my best friend, probably.”

“Oh,” Remus says, and considers this. “I think—I think you’re probably mine, too,” he ventures, because James is wonderful but he isn’t really what Remus imagines a best friend to be, and neither is Peter. Sirius has always been different: it was Sirius who figured out Remus’ darkest secret, Sirius who came up with the idea of becoming Animagi, Sirius who is somehow always attuned to people who make Remus uncomfortable and choose them as targets for his next prank.

“Wicked,” Sirius says in satisfaction, and lobs a Dungbomb at the Hufflepuffs. Remus watches him, watches the skittering chaos below as the bomb hits, and the warmth he feels has nothing at all to do with charmwork.


End file.
